


Hold Me, Now

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood/Injury Mention, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dirty. Drenched. Drunk. Probably bleeding.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me, Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written on request for tumblr user [yaoi-knight](yaoi-knight.tumblr.com) \- thank you so much for the prompt!
> 
> \--

_Dirty. Drenched. Drunk. Probably bleeding._

Marco had seen Jean in a lot of sad states over the course of their friendship, but this one was likely the worst.

Standing at his door, Jean looked back at him, one eye ringed with an angry shade of red and beginning to swell. His hair was matted to his face, sopping wet from the pouring rain, and he stood shivering in it, his pant legs muddied up to the knee, from walking to get to Marco’s apartment. He smelled vaguely of alcohol and even through the slick sheen of the rain on his skin, Marco could see that he had been crying.

But he did not offer to tell Marco where he had been, what he'd been doing, or how he'd gotten himself in such condition. There was no indication that he had any intention of offering an explanation. He only turned up at Marco’s door, lingering wordlessly outside, a silent cry for help.

Marco nodded, led him inside by the hand.

A few strides later, they reached Marco’s bathroom, and Marco motioned for Jean to take a seat on the edge of his bathtub. Without asking aloud, he looked to Jean for permission to remove his dirty shoes and soaked socks, permission Jean granted with a nod. Once they were off, Marco tugged at the soiled hem of Jean’s pants, indicating that he should peel them off as well. Taking the hint, Jean stood to undress, while Marco went to work drawing a bath. He handed Jean a towel and turned his head to allow Jean to slip into the water, still averting his gaze once Jean was settled. But in the small space, Jean reached for him, and Marco took it as he was meant to - assurance that it was okay for him to be close, that Jean _needed_ him close.

He took a seat on the side of his narrow bathtub, letting Jean rest his head against his side as he leaned over to rummage through a nearby plastic drawer. He pulled out a washcloth, some soap, and some rubbing alcohol, and showed them to Jean. Jean nodded, and Marco wet the cloth, gently dabbing at the bruised and lacerated skin of Jean’s face with soap and warm water, before following with alcohol on the tiny cuts.

Everything in him _begged_ to know why Jean was so mangled, so downtrodden; he wanted to know where to place his anger, who to hate for leaving Jean like this. But still, he didn't ask. He only gave Jean’s face another glance, making sure he hadn't missed anything, before leaving to retrieve some things from his kitchen.

When Marco returned - a glass of cold water, two Tylenol, and a sandwich, in hand - Jean sat up from where he had been leaning against the back of the tub, clearly fighting back the urge to cry again. Marco thrust the hand holding the drink toward him, followed by the pain killer, which Jean gladly took. He raised his glass wordlessly, obviously appreciative. Marco nodded, settling on the side of the tub again, offering Jean the food. Jean grimaced, but before he could offer protest, his stomach rumbled audibly, and he begrudgingly reached for the sandwich.

As he ate, Marco looked down at him, idly watching his face as his wounded expression gradually faded. He still looked broken - literally, as his eye continued to swell - but there was also an element of relaxation, of comfort, on his features. Finishing his food, Jean sighed, letting his head fall against Marco’s leg.

They sat that way, silent for a few minutes, Jean pulling his legs to his chest. When he raised a shaking hand to rest on Marco’s thigh, Marco noticed his knuckles, the skin on them bruised and broken as well. He wrapped his own fingers carefully around them, examining them closer, and finally, Jean could hold his tears back no longer. Startled, Marco turned sharply to look at his face.

Worried he'd hurt him, Marco released Jean’s hand from his own, but Jean shoved it back toward him, grabbing for Marco’s hand as he let himself cry. Despite everything, Marco did not push him for details; Jean would talk when he was ready to. It was clear that what he needed then was something else. Marco patted Jean’s shoulders, urging him to turn, then eased him back between his open legs as he dropped his feet into the bath on either side of Jean.

They stayed there, just as they sat, for what might have been an hour or more. Jean lay back, resting his head against Marco, pulling Marco’s arms around his shoulders, eyes closed as he waited out an undoubtedly nasty headache. His wet back and shoulders soaked Marco's shorts, but it was of little concern to either of them. When the bath water went cold, Marco urged Jean up and out of it, passing him a towel as he left his side only long enough to make and turn down his bed. He had every intention of offering it to Jean that evening while he slept on his couch, and when he returned with a clean pair of shorts for Jean to sleep in after throwing Jean’s half-destroyed clothes in the sink to soak overnight, it seemed that Jean liked the idea, as he was already getting comfortable. But as he pulled on the shorts, he waved in Marco’s direction, tugging wordlessly at his shirt when Marco came within reach. Marco reached for the corner of his blankets and eyed Jean inquisitively; Jean nodded.

Marco crawled into bed beside him, protest not even on his mind as Jean wriggled up in front of him, pulling Marco’s arm around his waist.

Marco closed his eyes, just breathing as he took in the moment. He didn't say a word. They could talk about it the next day. There would be a time and a place, to ask what had happened, to ask why Jean had chosen Marco to come to, and to ask what this evening meant, in the grand scheme of their relationship.

  
For the night, Marco only reached up to squeeze Jean’s hand, before turning off the light.


End file.
